A Haunting Image, But a Promise
by Harriet Wilde
Summary: One Night on the Bridge of CELTIC...


To Be An Officer!  
  
( 2002 by Harriet Wilde  
  
  
  
Wilde thanked Lowe as he took the cup of tea from the young Welsh officer. A beautiful night, this First Night Out, the sky a magical deep midnight blue, the stars brighter than they would be on land—no light to interfere with seeing them—yet not nearly as bright as they would be once they'd got out on the North Atlantic. A bit of moon, and a few scudding clouds. The Chief Officer smiled as he looked out at the waters of the Channel, each wave touched with that bit of silver from the waning moon.  
  
In spite of the strange feeling—and who knew why a sailor got queer feelings from time to time—Wilde was still content. Here he was, thirty- nine years of age and soon to be master of his very first ship, the beautiful OCEANIC. Smaller than TITANIC, certainly, but she had been the first ship since GREAT EASTERN to exceed seven hundred feet. He remembered when she'd first been put into service in 1899, White Star once again setting a standard for luxury, which other lines could only follow. Yes, quite the Lady with her genuine marble fittings in the First Class lavatories and a lovely finish for one of the lounges: a sort of gold wash in the paneling. He would be more than content to command such a lovely little Lady.  
  
The road to command had been far from easy. First all the years spent learning to be a seaman, as one necessarily had to be a seaman before all else. Then working for his Mate's certificate, then the Master's and Extra Masters exams, both oral and written. All the hours of studying the textbooks, crammed in amongst one's duties, which of course came first. Had to come first if the ship were to be sailed properly. Then, simple experience—years and years worth, learning to handle ships, to know what to do in any situation, getting to know each ship's quirks, how to get her to do what one needed, how to take accurate readings with the sextant and then how to take that and determine their position so that the Master could work out their course. All of it leading to the four stripes of a White Star captain.  
  
Now, Wilde sighed; that brought up Mary Catherine—his beloved Polly as she'd been nicknamed. That dream of his to make her a captain's wife had died with her. In the months since that awful Christmas Eve on which she'd died in his arms, combined with the nightmare of reporting her death and the funeral itself, the world had slowly lightened from shades of deep gray and black, to a lighter gray and black, to pale and dark grays, and, finally to some color; he had finally begun to heal, something he thought he'd never be able to say as he'd stood by her newly-dug grave, tears flowing down his face.  
  
A friend of his liked to say that officers were born, not made, and maybe it was true: it was a whole way of life that those who were not officers could never under-stand or share. All the years since he'd received his Master's license, he had lived according to a strict code of honour. That was a very important thing for a man: honour. If he had not honour, he had nothing. That meant doing one's absolute best under any circumstances. To stand on the bridge of a ship was a privilege, and it behooved a man to never forget it. Only a few men ever stood watch over a crack ocean liner such as TITANIC and fewer yet attained the four stripes, which marked him as a ship-captain. As for becoming a master mariner such as Edward JSmith, Master of TITANIC, well, it remained to be seen if Henry Tingle Wilde could one day enter that tiny, select group of men.  
  
Yes, to be an officer was wonderful, and Wilde would never, ever want to be anything else. His friend was right; he'd been born to this and to nothing else. This was his—his destiny and he had long ago embraced it. Even now, a good thirteen years or more later, it gave him a contentment few things could. The happiness of doing what he wanted most to do—sail a big, beautiful ocean liner, the beauty of the sea all round her, the comfort and tradition of an officer's life, developed over thousands of years of those who'd gone before him, routine seeming to fall effortlessly into place, one hour following the rest…  
  
The Chief Officer smiled as he saw Lowe walking back to his spot on the Captain's Bridge. The young man had chosen the best life that any young man who went to sea could. He had chosen to be an officer in the Merchant Marine. 


End file.
